


But Kill Me First

by Romanec



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Asphyxiation, Dom!Charles and Sub!Erik, Dom/sub, Flashbacks, Hints of Charles being dark and a bamf, M/M, Sub!Erik, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanec/pseuds/Romanec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Erik and Charles try something new, that ends up being more of a trigger for Erik than they had considered.</p>
<p>All underage is non-graphic and is only between Shaw/Erik.</p>
<p>(<i> Or, where the author tried to fill her own prompt and failed. Prompt: The first time Erik/Charles has to use his safeword.</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Kill Me First

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any spelling errors. I wrote this on WordPad. -_- And I'm beyond tired, so if it sucks to boot on top of bad spelling, my further and most sincere apologies.

He's been in a position like this before.

He consented easily enough. Eager to please.

His wrists are crossed over themselves, sweating skin rubbing against heated skin, trapped under the confining burn of thick rope that has no give. The concept of non-metal bindings isn't new (his own stipulation, he'll admit -- a carefully placed _please, please, don't let me have an out_ that had been accepted with a soothing carress he can still feel), but this particular rope is unfamiliar -- rough, shredded -- he adores the searing sensation of it. His knees are locked against cheap cotton sheets, struggling to keep purchase as his back arches and sings under the throbbing remnants of recent pain. He's naked, exposed, covered only be the revealing yellow light of the streetlamp just outside the motel window, and if not for the rope keeping his wrists bound to the wooden headboard, he feels he could abandon orders and slip beneath it all.

"Erik," a low voice coos gently in his ear, a soft head slipping across his back, igniting the slightly raised welts to new burns. He bit his lip harshly to keep from making a sound. "Love. Pay attention."

Yes, Erik has been in a position like this before. 

But not this one exactly.

"Are you ready for this?" Charles whispers, nipping lightly at his shoulder in a teasing provocation. But his orders are still firm in his head. He merely nods, short and curt, shifting slightly to keep his position. Another touch to his shoulder, but gentler this time -- the lightest brush of lips, a quiet, fervent, "don't forget". And then the warmth of Charles' body is completely gone from him, leaving nothing but the cool brush of air from the room's air conditioner. He holds back a shudder.

And then the first coil of rope grazes his neck.

Erik has been in a position like this before.

_Schmidt liked to have him on his knees, certainly, though with him the bindings had always been metal. The sheets then had been silk, and Erik's malnurished body had had to put up quite the struggle to remain still and in position. It never went further -- Herr Doktor enjoyed keeping him on his toes, keeping him waiting, waiting._

The coil tightens slightly in warning. "Stay with me, Erik." 

But he still can't feel Charles near him.

Schmidt had never touched him at first -- never allowed the ground connection. He had worn his gloves when he stripped Erik's body, bound his hands, forced him to his knees. The times have become a blur -- a rush of scrambled images and tears and pain. Only one significant memory stands out, branding and claiming. Charles had seen it. 

Erik hadn't meant to share it.

Charles is near him again, just barely. A ghost of a touch against his body -- avoiding the welts, the rope -- a hand trailing softly towards his thighs, soothing, but not relieving. He's been in a position like this before.

The rope tightens a just a little more.

_Herr Doktor had been more interested in his reactions than any sort of sexual gratification (though, naturally, that was also taken). The one time his eyes had truly lit up, overwhelming the glare of Erik's own reflection in his glasses as he looked down, was when he had latched on the too tight collar-_

It pulls a bit more, finally, finally, biting into Erik's skin. The touch of a burn, the prick of a loose strand. 

"Erik."

_-and watched as Erik's body trembled and bucked as oxygen refused to enter his lungs. As his arms strained against the metal bindings as he tried to suck in air from a device he didn't even enough control to remove and he couldn't fucking breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe God let me go, let me go, I'll submit I promise I'm sorry, Herr Doktor, I'm sorry I'm sorry!_

"Verde!" The word tears from his mouth in a moment of sheer, bursting panic, an unused reflex. He's pulling at his retraints before he can think to move, desperate to get away, to pull away. He wants to breathe, he just wants to breathe. Why can't he get free? 

_Herr Doktor had loomed over him, laughing and stroking his hair and murmuring "good boy, Erik. Good boy" while removing his jacket._

He doesn't even notice the rope falling away in immediate response, or the way his wrists are released only seconds later. His body collapses without his permission, but he doesn't feel as Charles instantly swarms in behind him -- beside him, pulling him in close, tucking him under his chin and soothing him. He doesn't hear the vicious promises of "I will kill him. For you, I swear it. I swear. Submit, Erik. Peace, peace." There's something wet and hot making its way down his cheek -- he doesn't realize it to know he's crying.

Later, when he's back to himself and the memory is once again a shadow he can ignore, Erik will be horrified that he broke Charles' order of silence; mourn that he disappointed the only Dominant worth a damn. He will find any time, any appropriate time (because Charles dislikes the public displays and the way they "turn something special into a game it's degrading, Erik") to kneel and wait for whatever Charles wants to give him. He won't understand when Charles' eyes go hard with anger not directed at him, or when he says "It's a safeword, Erik. It's meant to be used. You've done nothing wrong." Because it never worked that way.

_Schmidt's kind smile. "Don't say a word, Erik."_

For now, he trembles, and stays silent.

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is fairly similar to my other fic, Ruined,I won't be adding another part to this, as I'm already committed to a larger part of that. Which may or may not be a good thing?
> 
>  
> 
> _But if anyone would like to fill that prompt or run with it or whatever, I would love you forever and send you cookies and read it all the time o.o and yes, well_


End file.
